


No Second Time

by Zig_Zag_F1



Series: You Love Him [5]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Drunkenness, Friends to Enemies, Homophobia, Hook-Up, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, One-Sided Attraction, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 20:00:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20822972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zig_Zag_F1/pseuds/Zig_Zag_F1
Summary: Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that it isn't all his fault, that Esteban clearly participated, that he clearly enjoyed it. But the knowledge doesn't make him feel better.





	No Second Time

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why but the song You Love Him by Brighten made me want to write things based on each line so here I am. You don't have to listen to the song though, or read the fics in order.
> 
> This is line 5, if anyone cares to know.

"_It couldn't happen a second time..."_

It's late, and he's buzzed, not ready for sleep yet. Esteban feels the same way, evidently, because he's cracking open another beer and offering another to Pierre. Pierre turns him down and leans over the hotel balcony railing, looking all the way down to the ground six stories below, letting the dizziness of the height run through him like a chill before he looks up. The view is full of lights, boats on the calm water, other balconies, rooftops, and, above all of them, stars. Pierre loves the sky at night. He always has.

"Cold?" Esteban asked, laughing at him. 

"No, just the height," Pierre answers, still looking out over the buildings below.

"I didn't think you were afraid of heights," Esteban comments, taking another long sip of beer and sitting down on a chair. He props his long legs up on the balcony railing. 

"I'm not," Pierre says. There's laughter from inside the hotel suite, and Pierre glances at the door that separates the rest of the party crowd from the two of them. He's not sure if he wants to leave or stay, even though he's not tired. The group is becoming a bit raucous and that's not really his thing. He knows Esteban isn't a fan of wild parties, and while this isn't wild yet, it's getting there. 

"You're done drinking for the night, then?" Esteban asks him. 

"I haven't decided."

Esteban laughs. "Well, you've got a room in this hotel anyway. You don't have anywhere to drive."

"Neither do you," Pierre responds out of habit. 

Esteban holds up his beer. "I know, that's why I'm taking advantage of the occasion." He laughs bitterly, but Pierre isn't sure why. Maybe the alcohol is making him feel down.

"I'll think about it," he says, opening the door and going back into the party. Esteban doesn't follow.

It's loud in the room, and the music is louder than it was when Pierre went out to get some air. He weaves his way through the groups, waving at a friend here and there, telling himself he's not sure what he's looking for, even though it's a lie. 

Just ahead he sees Charles, and his heart skips a beat as he makes his way over to him, waving through the crowd and smiling. 

Charles is very close to drunk, but he looks happy, face flushed, laughing at something Pierre didn't hear. When Pierre comes closer, Charles throws an arm around him and introduces him to some people. Pierre doesn't even hear their names, and he registers shaking their hands only very vaguely. Most of his attention is focused on Charles and he is smiling uncontrollably because Charles is, and because Charles is happy, and he likes it when that happens. He wishes the reason why Charles is happy had to do with him in some way, and he knows it's selfish. 

The people drift away and Pierre turns to Charles, extremely aware of the way Charles' arm is still around his shoulders. He tells himself it's because of the alcohol that he feels suddenly so warm.

"How are you?" He asks, looking into Charles' slightly reddened eyes. "You look like you're having fun."

"I am!" Charles laughs again, pulling him in for a clumsy hug before releasing him. Pierre wants to grab his hand and hang on. Fucking beer must be getting to him more than usual.

Someone is waving at Charles from across the room and Charles smiles at him apologetically. "I'm sorry, Pierre...I'll see you soon though, right? We'll meet up when we get home next week?"

"Yes, of course," Pierre says, and he feels like he can't breathe. He is glad he's so controlled, and yet also he wishes he was courageous and could just do what he's always wished he could do. He wishes he was brave enough to kiss Charles. Just at least the once, he really really wanted to. And if Charles didn't like it? He could always blame the alcohol. But he figures that right now, he's not drunk enough. 

Maybe he should just drink some more, like Esteban said, and maybe then he'd have the courage that sober Pierre and tipsy Pierre both lack. He can see liquor bottles sitting on the long table with shot glasses and wine glasses and other things strewn around them and he decides that's what he needs. 

At the table, he finds the vodka, pours himself a shot, and downs it. Then another. And another. And another. He swallows hard, the awful taste still clinging to his tongue. He washes it away with a mouthful of diet coke that he pours into the shot glass and sips down quickly. 

He blinks, the lights in the room are blurry but they clear. He leans out and touches the wall and it is where he thinks it is. So far, so good. He's not so drunk that he doesn't know what's going on, at least, not yet. But if he's going to kiss Charles, he doesn't want to taste like vodka, so he walks in a fairly straight line towards the punch bowl on the other table. It doesn't have alcohol in it, he knows that because he drank some earlier. He unsteadily pours himself a glass and drinks it slowly, trying to make sure it reaches all the parts of his mouth. 

When it's empty, he throws it in the wastebasket and it lands, so he concludes that's another good sign that he's not too drunk. Scanning the room, he tries to spot Charles, but even though he would say he's an expert at immediately sighting him by now, he can't find him anywhere. 

He goes over to the man he saw waving at Charles earlier and asks him if he knows where he went. 

"He left," someone says, and Pierre looks at them. "He said he had an early plane to catch."

Pierre feels like an idiot, because he knows what plane it is, and he knows why, and he didn't think of it. He laughs at himself mockingly. Of course, the night he decides to finally do something about how he feels, Charles has to leave early and he loses his chance. 

The group is looking at him and he realizes it must look odd for him to be laughing about that. "Thanks," he mumbles, unable to come up with anything else. The alcohol is really setting in, the four shots dragging him down. He can't think clearly. 

Fresh air, that's what he needs. 

He stumbles out of the room and onto the balcony, falling against the railing and gasping in a deep breath of air that doesn't smell like alcohol. 

It does smell like cigarettes though, and he looks over to see that Esteban is still where he was before, and now he's smoking. 

"That's a bad habit," Pierre warns, and he's surprised that the words aren't slurring. 

"Thanks Mom, I know," Esteban growls, flicking away the butt. 

"When did you start doing that?" Pierre asks him curiously, and Esteban avoids his glance. 

"I've always had a little bit of a problem. Not a habit, but I guess when I drink, I just want to smoke too."

Pierre shrugs. After what he just did, downing all those shots just to kiss someone who isn't here anymore, he wants to be sick. Either that or he wants to throw himself off the railing and down the six stories to the concrete below. He can't decide. 

"You okay?" Esteban asks, and Pierre hears a slight slur in his voice. He sees the bottles next to the chair and knows Esteban's finished a few since he was out here last.

"All good," Pierre mumbles, clinching the railing just a bit too tightly. He hears Esteban stand up and shuffle over, feels his hand on his shoulder.

"Are you sure?" Esteban asks, and Pierre can smell the cigarette smoke on his clothing. He turns and looks at his friend, who flashes him a kind of half smile, a drunken attempt to make him feel better. Pierre knows he's obviously not being as subtle about feeling down as he thought.

"It's just..."

"Just what?" Esteban prompts, leaning closer to Pierre, eyebrows raised. 

Pierre feels a drumming in his head and his eyes hurt. He shuts them tightly and opens them again to find Esteban in the same place, inches away from him, face looking concerned. 

And Pierre, without thinking, and just like an idiot, puts his hand on the back of Esteban's neck, pulls him close, and kisses him. 

Esteban, clearly shocked, breaks away and stares at him, looking like he isn't sure what the hell just happened, but just when Pierre thinks he's going to slap him, Esteban leans back in and kisses Pierre, and they're kissing, and Pierre thinks it feels amazing, but he also feels so terribly, horribly wrong, because _it's not Charles_. And he's...well,_ he's_ _always been in love with Charles_. 

But Esteban is here, and Esteban is kissing him, and it feels so good, and it means nothing. So he gives in, and when Esteban grabs his hand and pulls him through the hotel suite and down the hall towards the elevator, he doesn't find the words to protest. 

They make out in the elevator, and Pierre tries to close his mind and shut out the thoughts of Charles completely. 

Esteban almost drags him into his hotel room and swings the door shut behind them. Pierre has his hands in Esteban's hair, and he feels like he's falling down a black hole as he keeps kisses him, guilt and lust fighting a war inside him. 

Esteban strips off his shirt and Pierre runs kisses over his chest, liking the way he moans and reacts. He lets Esteban pull his shirt off over his head and shivers as hands run down his sides and play with the waistband of his jeans. He finds himself reaching down, gripping Esteban through his thin slacks and making him moan. 

Pierre's brain decides he wants this, that it's okay, it's just for one night, and then they'll pretend it never happened and go back to how things were.

He's hard already. Esteban strips his jeans off him and he pulls at Esteban's pants, dragging them down to the floor along with his briefs. In another second, Pierre's briefs are off as well and he's watching Esteban play with his length. He groans, sliding his hand around Esteban's dick and jerking him off, at first a little haphazardly, but eventually with a rhythm that kind of matches how Esteban is touching him. 

He's kissing Esteban again, feeling too aggressive and desperate, pushing him backwards little by little until they reach the bed and fall onto it, quickly reconnecting and continuing the encounter. Pierre thinks that the alcohol must be making him last longer than he thinks he would have if they'd tried this sober. Esteban is hot, sexy hot, and Pierre has noticed before, but not like this.

He spills over eventually, and minutes later he watches Esteban finish, and he feels dirty just watching as Esteban orgasms. 

The thoughts of Charles have returned, and the pounding in Pierre's head, and the guilt is almost overwhelming. 

Slowly, he stands up, walks to the bathroom, and washes his hands. He avoids looking into the mirror, but he absentmindedly makes an effort to fix his hair.

When he returns, Esteban is already dressed and he's facing away from him, sitting on the bed. 

Pierre picks up his clothing and puts his briefs and jeans back on, an odd feeling of being suddenly sober washing over him. "Esteban?" He asks.

The other doesn't answer.

Pierre sighs and pulls on his shirt, walks over, and sits down by Esteban. "You okay?"

Esteban doesn't look at him. Pierre touches his arm lightly and tries again. "Este?"

Esteban jerks his arm away, still not looking at Pierre. "Get out."

"Esteban? What's wrong?"

Esteban finally looks at him, and his face is ice cold. "I said, get out!"

Pierre looks at him, shocked, not sure what's going on. Esteban's face doesn't change. "I'm not fucking gay."

"I didn't say you were," Pierre protests, both hurt and taken aback. "I didn't..."

Esteban stands up and faces him for a second before suddenly putting a hand on his chest and shoving him against the wall. Pierre's head doesn't hit hard, but it's hard enough that he feels like the rest of the drunk feeling is totally gone. "You better not tell anyone," Esteban says icily, eyes boring into Pierre's. "You better keep your mouth shut. I'm not fucking gay, and no one better know about this."

Pierre nods, eyes wide, not sure how to speak.

"I don't want to ever speak to you again. I don't want to see you, I don't want to be near you, I don't want anyone to think I'm like you," Esteban continues, and Pierre feels like he can't breathe. He never meant for this to happen. He didn't mean any of this.

"It was stupid, okay, I'm sorry, I never meant to hurt you," Pierre feels the words rush out. "I thought..."

"I don't care. Get the fuck out and don't speak to me again. We're not friends, we don't even know each other. Got it?"

Tears prickling at his eyes, Pierre nods quickly before Esteban finally releases him.

He flees the room blindly, rushing into the elevator and somehow finding his way to his room, scrambling to pull out his room key. He lets himself in and shuts the door quickly, leaning against it for a second and trying to breathe, trying to calm himself. 

_I'm so fucking stupid. What was I thinking? I kissed him, and I only kissed him because I couldn't kiss Charles. And now he hates me._

He throws himself on the hotel bed face down. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that it isn't all his fault, that Esteban clearly participated, that he clearly enjoyed it. But the knowledge doesn't make him feel better.

There's an empty feeling in his chest and it hurts. He thinks again of Charles and wishes he was here. But he knows that wouldn't help. 

_If I'd kissed Charles, maybe he would never want to see me again either. _

He's not happy, and he feels so guilty, and the pain of losing Esteban is sitting there in his chest the way he thinks it would if he had a heart attack. But this, to Pierre, is nothing compared to what would he would feel if Charles rejected him this way. 

_It's better that I lose Esteban than Charles._

The thought is true, but it doesn't make him feel better. He knows he used Esteban, and he hates himself for that, but he also knows that if Esteban hadn't wanted it, none of it would've happened. And now, afterwards, Esteban hates him. What went wrong? Why was he so angry?

Suddenly, tears overwhelm his eyes and he knows he can't hold them back. _None of this was supposed to happen. Esteban...please...I'm sorry._

But he knows Esteban won't listen to him, not now, and not ever. 

_I never want to see you again._

Pierre pulls the hotel comforter over his head, lays his head on the white pillowcase, and sobs.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry, okay. Seriously. But feel free to yell if you want.
> 
> Usual notes apply: no copying, it's fucking fictional, leave it here, don't be a douche...etc. Thanks for reading!


End file.
